


An Itch You Just Can't Scratch

by asonyplaystation



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, cute old men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asonyplaystation/pseuds/asonyplaystation
Summary: In a just world he would be able to languish in bed for a while longer, to just lie in the comfortable 800-thread count sheets that they picked out together on the ergonomic mattress and just curl up next to Richie until he woke up in half an hour or so, and they could go back to doing whatever it is they wanted to do. What Eddie wants to do, mostly, is to have lazy morning sex and lie in bed until 1:20 pm and give into the sleepy animal impulse inside him that hates getting up.But it’s not a just world. It’s a cruel and unforgiving world and Eddie has to get up because he has work.Eddie's got a pretty bad case of beard burn and it's getting to be really distracting at the office. There might only be one way he can fix it.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 164





	An Itch You Just Can't Scratch

Eddie wakes up. When he stretches his back cracks loudly. Richie is snoring beside him like a boar, lying on his face and snorting into the pillow in the deep slumber of the truly satisfied. Eddie’s still returning to the land of living, but he knows immediately he’s in trouble. There’s big bruises on his hips and a dull throb at the base of his spine, and his shoulders feel like they’ve been pulled like taffy. There’s also a very definite sore spot on his inside thighs and when he swings his legs out of bed and the material of the sheets rub up against them it shouts complaints through his nerves. He feels a little like a day after he’s had a really good, intense workout, except that’s not the case this time. Eddie looks over at his deeply unconscious husband and has to admit he feels probably even  _ better _ than if he was this exhausted from exercise. 

There was no particular  _ reason _ why they’d -- in Richie’s words -- gone to town on each other last night, other than the fact they were in love and everything about Richie still made Eddie feel borderline crazy, as if he had to get as much time in with him as possible before someone took him away. He knows logically there’s no time limit on how long he’s going to be around Richie but he doesn’t want to stop taking advantage of every moment they have together. Sometimes though, living life to the fullest, meant your partner fucking you so hard that you still felt it the next day. 

_ Oh woe is me _ , Eddie thinks smugly. 

In a just world he would be able to languish in bed for a while longer, to just lie in the comfortable 800-thread count sheets that they picked out  _ together _ on the ergonomic mattress and just curl up next to Richie until he woke up in half an hour or so, and they could go back to doing whatever it is they wanted to do. What Eddie wants to do, mostly, is to have lazy morning sex and lie in bed until 1:20 pm and give into the sleepy animal impulse inside him that hates getting up. 

But it’s not a just world. It’s a cruel and unforgiving world and Eddie has to get up because he has work. He's about to sit down with a roomful of board members and department heads and talk about the financial quarter. He already knows he isn't going to be giving this his all, too sore and distracted to think about much else. 

He gets ready quickly out of the hope showering and putting on a suit will put him in a more professional mindset. The hot water of the shower melts away some of the aches in his shoulders and back, his muscles getting looser and easier. He's feeling confident up until he starts getting dressed, pulling a clean shirt out of the closet while Richie slumbers in the bed. Eddie looks at him fondly; he’s rolled over in his sleep and is now lying with an arm over his face and his mouth open. There’s a hickey on the front of his throat that is going to be visible no matter what unless he starts wearing turtle necks. Eddie is smirking about this right up until he puts on his shirt and he startles with pain when the collar goes tight against the bite mark on the nape of his neck. He reaches back to touch the place where Richie bit him last night, flinches away from it but at the same time gets a distinct surge of pleasure running down his spine. Rather than being annoyed he finds himself smiling again.

Standing in the kitchen in his slacks and shirt he waits for the coffee to drip through the filter and shifts from foot to foot. His pants are slim cut and tight around his thighs, and every time he moves the material brushes over the sensitive skin there, making it sting in the places where they’ve been rubbed raw by Richie’s beard scruff. He eats granola and drinks coffee at the kitchen island, trying not to think about last night when Richie sucked his cock so well and for so long that it had him in tears from the overstimulation, writhing on the sheets and begging. He chews his granola very slowly and uncrosses his legs when he notices how much pressure he’s putting against the burn, and the way that pressure makes his cock twitch hopefully.

Eddie tries to put it as far out of his mind as he can. It works for a little while, too busy focusing on the road as he drives to the giant gleaming skyscraper his office is in to think about anything very intensely, but as he walks inside he’s haunted by last night with every little movement he makes. He greets the receptionists, makes his way up in the elevator with someone else from the office whose name he can’t remember and is clearly too nervous to speak to him, who keeps giving him shy glances. Unfortunately for her he can’t think of anything to say and doesn’t like small talk anyway, so he stays wrapped up in his own head until he gets to his floor and heads off to the conference room where they’re having the meeting without saying a word.

He sits down at the table and greets his coworkers who blithely say good morning and all Eddie can think about is how when he crosses his legs the pressure on the beard burn is painful but it’s also really  _ good _ . Something about the pain, about the stimulation, about the tension and release, the way his skin still tingles from contact even when he moves his legs apart… He swallows dryly and sits stiffly and tries not to think about the way Richie had gripped his hips so tightly as he’d fucked him deep into the mattress, but he’s reminded every time he shifts in his chair and the edge of his belt presses into the bruises that are left like autographs. 

He holds himself still as the meeting starts, trying not to feel anything, hyperware of his own skin. He knows so well what he is capable of doing; of what he is capable of feeling. Every time he moves and feels the bright spark of pain run down his spine his body remembers the heat of flesh on his, the tension in his muscles as the orgasm built within him, rutting his body against the sheets as Richie moaned in his ear and-

He tries to snap himself back to reality. The woman talking has noticed his eyes are glazing over and is clearly frustrated. Eddie leans forward in his seat and rests his arms on the table. He refocuses his attention, ignoring the way the beard burn between his legs is so sensitive to friction, how the feel of it goes right to his dick.

He likes a little pain. Not too much, he’s not a masochist, but when he’s in the throws of orgasm and Richie bites down on his neck. Or when he’s so desperate to cum he can’t take the pleasure of touch for a second longer, frustrated and begging for relief. He likes that. And right now the pain between his legs warms him through and says  _ remember what your body can do? _

He rubs his legs together, fidgeting in his seat, skin flaring hot all over. He thinks again about last night, Richie’s head between his legs, tongue dragging over the shaft of his cock, licking cum off the tip. Eddie can feel himself getting half-hard under his clothes.  _ This is bad _ , he thinks. 

“But that conflicts with the report from last month that indicated that the Rosenberg file was dropping three points,” a colleague from the risk assessment department says. He looks at Eddie for confirmation. “Kaspbrak. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yeah, yep, sure,” Eddie says. 

Some bickering arises but Eddie’s not thinking about that, Eddie’s thinking about how when he shifts backwards in his seat the pain in his body surges through him and he’s thinking about waking up in bed next to Richie and how much he’d wanted to spend the morning gently riding his husband instead of sitting in this fucking office building with people he doesn’t want to listen to anyway, getting harder under his clothes just from the friction of skin on skin… 

He has to get out of here. This room is suffocating him and he’s just about hornier than he’s ever been in his fucking life. His eyes dart to the clock. How much longer is he going to have to be in here? The revelation he’s only been here for about half an hour is like a bucket of cold water being thrown over him, but unfortunately for him, the water isn’t cold enough to make him stop feeling more desperate than a sailor at sea who hasn’t seen his spouse in nine months. 

_ You went almost fucking forty years without having a prostate orgasm you can wait like four hours _ , he tells himself, but it doesn’t stop himself from being, by this point, fully hard and squeezing his thighs together to try and stifle it but finding that that only makes it worse. This is a nightmare. 

He makes it another hour. It's a strain. At one point his hand sits on his lap but the proximity to his cock, now worryingly hard, feels too dangerous and he has to take it away and cross his arms, absolutely at odds with his own body. When he stands up to shake hands with the others, jacket draped carefully over one arm and disguising his unfortunate situation, the movement of the lining of his pants against himself making shudder almost violently. He doesn't know what else he can do other than dash to the nearest men's room and hope no one thinks anything of it.

There’s no one else in the men's room and he jumps quickly into a cubicle. For a second he stands with his hand on the back of the door, breathing heavily, before he allows himself to reach down and grab his cock through his clothes. He's fully hard now. He could probably sit in the cubicle and wait for this to go away, then he could get on with the rest of his day without problems. 

Eddie undoes his belt and the fly of his pants. Unremarkably, he's never jerked off in a public toilet before. Once Richie blew him in the backseat of his car when they were parked on the side of the road, looking down over LA. Every time a car had gone past Eddie had wondered if they were going to get caught. The adrenaline of that night had stuck with him for a long time. 

He rubs his hand over the inside of his thighs and shudders again at the sting of pain. His dick twitches again. He's so hard he can see drops of precum growing against the dark fabric. He could stop now, if he wanted to. 

He doesn’t want to, is the issue. What he  _ wants _ is to get fucked hard and fast until he can barely stand up. Unfortunately, though, he’s in the men’s room of his office building and Richie is probably still at home. He squeezes his cock again and bites his lip. Obviously, it’s dirty and weird and illegal to masturbate in a public place. Of course it is. The acknowledgement of this doesn’t make Eddie any less hard. In fact, his heart racing in his chest, it makes him even more desperate. 

As if he’d somehow sensed Eddie’s distress from wherever he was, Richie chooses that moment to call. Seeing his name flash up on the phone screen sends another flood of excitement through Eddie. He answers the call.

“Hey!” There’s a hum of the engine behind Richie’s voice. Is he in the car? 

“Hi,” Eddie says.

“Whoa, you sound weird. Did you just run?” 

“No I’m…”

“You’re what…?” Richie’s voice is playfully curious.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about last night and now I’m in the fourth floor men’s room with a fucking raging hard-on,” Eddie hisses into the phone.

“Holy shit. Oh my God.”

“I know. I know it’s insane.”

“Are you like…” Richie’s voice changes pitch very suddenly, dipping into something low. Eddie knows when he talks like this his voice rumbles through his chest. Eddie wishes he had his head against Richie’s chest right now. “Are you touching yourself?”

“A little.”

“What’s a little?” 

“Through my underwear. Your fucking beard rubbed my legs raw. Now every time I touch there all I can think about is your head between my thighs. And I’ve been touching it  _ all day _ .”

“You must want me so bad right now.”

Eddie’s hand has migrated into his underwear. His fingers slip past his cock to circle around his hole. Too bad he’s way too dry. He shivers from the touch.

“So fucking bad. I’m still so loose from last night. If you were here you could fuck me so easily.” He shifts his hand back to squeeze his cock firmly and groans a little into the phone. 

Richie inhales sharply. Eddie smiles to himself. He’s been pining after Richie so much all morning, it’s rewarding to know he can wind Richie up just as easily. He hears a car door slam. 

“Wait five minutes,” Richie says.

“What?” Eddie says, but Richie has already hung up. In a burst of frustration he bites the top of his phone and then remembers how unhygienic phones are and quickly retreats like the germs might not have noticed the contact and he still has time to escape.

The door to the men’s room swings open and Eddie freezes in place, entire body tense, but the newcomer just busies himself at the sink trying to wash something off his shirt before leaving a few seconds later. Eddie relaxes and at the same time his phone rings again. He answers it quickly, a little too quickly probably, though he’s fairly sure he lost any and all pretense of being ‘cool’ a long, long time ago.

“Hey,” Richie says. He’s muted, like he doesn’t want to be overheard and sounds like he’s walking. “So what are you doing right now?”

“Getting hung up on,” Eddie says, moodily.

“Come on. Talk to me.” 

“I’m touching myself. Under my clothes. I’m so fucking wet already.”

“You’re so fucking dirty, baby. Couldn’t even wait to get home.”

“No. I’m so desperate. All I can think about is your cock inside me.”

The door to the men’s room swings open and Eddie’s voice dies off, back of his neck burning with embarrassment out of hope he hasn’t been heard.

“Go on,” Richie says.

“I can’t, someone just opened the door,” Eddie hisses quietly.

“Oh? Is it maybe a tall, handsome stranger coming to investigate the strange noise in the fourth floor men’s room?”

Richie’s voice doesn’t come through the phone but outside the cubicle as he walks through the open men’s room door and lets it shut behind him. Eddie jerks open the cubicle.

“What are you doing here?” He says.

Richie pushes him back into the stall gently and eases in alongside him. There’s just about room for the two of them, but it doesn’t matter, because Richie has his arms around Eddie already, kissing him sweetly. He leans his hips up against Eddie’s, and Eddie can feel that he’s half-hard under his jeans, line of his cock prominent against the material. 

“I was literally outside when you called,” Richie says with a grin. He chases another quick kiss, nuzzling at the side of Eddie’s face. “I wanted to see if you wanted to get lunch.”

“You’re so considerate. Fuck you.”

“I thought the idea was fuck  _ you _ .”

“What if someone comes in?”

“We change our names and move to Peru,” Richie says. He has a hand on Eddie’s hip and Eddie so badly wishes it was touching him in other places. “Do you want to do this?”

Oh, but Eddie  _ does _ want to do this. He is already pulling at the front of Richie’s pants, fumbling to undo the button. 

“We don’t have any lube,” Eddie says, “and I don’t know about you, but I  _ really _ am not interested in using liquid hand soap-”

Richie shoves a hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a travel sized bottle of lubricant. Eddie stares at it.

“Please tell me you don’t always have that on you,” Eddie says. 

“No, dumbass, I went to the drug store at the end of the block. Do you want to get fucked stupid or not?”

Eddie grabs Richie’s big stupid head and kisses him as an answer. They crush together against the wall, mouths hot, both of them struggling to fit together in the small space. Richie takes Eddie's cock in his hand, palming it gently, the touch making him whine needily into Richie's mouth. Eddie fights to pull Richie's pants down enough to tug him free too. It's cramped and sweaty and frantic and at any moment someone might walk in on them, and Eddie's pulse is hammering in his chest so hard he feels nearly drunk from it. He runs his teeth over Richie's lower lip, listening to him almost purr in pleasure.

"You've got bruises on your hips," Richie says softly. 

"So do you," Eddie says, dipping his head to kiss one of the lovebites he left on Richie's neck.

"Mmm. I like being all marked up by you. People know I'm taken." 

Richie grinds into Eddie, his cock sliding between Eddie's thighs, butting up against his ass. Eddie wants it inside him so badly that he thinks he could cry. He pushes up against Richie, trying to feel him closer, the heat of Richie radiating through his thin shirt. 

"Turn around," Richie says.

Eddie does, spins around so his face is against the faux-granite surface of the cubicle wall. Richie covers him, arms planted either side of his body, cock slowly rubbing the underside of his ass. Eddie's skin is burning against it. He feels Richie's hand, cold with lube, gently circling his hole. Richie gets two fingers inside without even trying, Eddie's body bucking involuntarily at the intrusion. 

"Finally," Eddie says, half a groan.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Richie says. 

He presses the head of his cock into Eddie. Eddie's breath hitches; he holds it, tries not to groan too loudly as Richie slides into him with very little effort. Fuck, that's just what he wanted. He bites down on his finger to keep himself quiet, bracing himself against the wall as Richie slowly pushes deeper inside him, spreading him wide and then filling him again. It's hot as Richie thrusts into him, hot and firm, and he arches his back to try and feel it deeper.

"You really were ready for me," Richie says. "Fuck, I can't believe you're still this tight when I just fucked the life out of you last night."

He snaps his hips harder into Eddie, fingers firm against the bruises decorating his sides. Eddie moans involuntarily, too loud for the quiet room, hears Richie giggle behind him. Eddie shoots him a wounded look that only makes Richie giggle harder.

“This is serious,” Eddie says.

“Sex is not serious,” Richie says, nuzzling at the back of Eddie’s head. “Sex is very silly and you’re very funny when you’re all worked up.”

Eddie elbows him in the side, or tries to, but it’s hard to turn around when someone is fully inside you and has you pressed up against a wall, so he fails. They both end up snickering at that, Richie’s laughter shaking through Eddie’s entire body as he holds him close.

They stifle the giggles when Richie pulls out, the drag of the cock inside him making Eddie go completely weak. He braces himself against the wall and when Richie thrusts in he rocks with the motion before pushing back, slowly starting to fuck himself on Richie's cock. Fingers dig against the bruises on his hips and he groans again, moving faster, feeling the heat of Richie's breath as he loses himself inside Eddie. 

The door of the bathroom opens and Eddie freezes, his eyes snapping open wide. Richie stops too, pressing his face to the back of Eddie's neck, lips on the bite mark making Eddie's hips jerk responsively. There's footsteps as the stranger walks across the room. Eddie doesn't dare move, staying still and silent as possible. Richie's cock throbs inside him. 

Very, very slowly Richie moves, adjusting himself. Eddie makes a small noise, his eyes flashing with alarm when he realises what he's done. Richie's hand covers his mouth suddenly, trying to stifle the sound. The stranger walks across the room to a different cubicle. Richie’s seated so deep inside him that Eddie thinks he can feel it in his stomach. He shifts himself slowly, moving a little, letting it slide in and out just a little. Richie moans softly in his ear, but they rock together, short, slow motions. 

One of Richie’s fingers slips between Eddie’s lips and he gently bites down, Richie humming with pleasure at the slight pain. He pumps harder into Eddie, the door creaking as they move faster, Eddie biting down more on Richie’s finger to try and hold back on any sound. Eddie’s eyes are shut, his breathing is strained, his entire body is hot and tense. 

When the door to the men’s room swings open and shut again as the intruder leaves, Richie sighs with relief.

“You should be more careful,” Eddie says.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Richie says, almost breathless with lust. 

He slides a hand between Eddie’s legs, brushing against his hard cock, rubbing fingers over the sore spots on Eddie’s thighs. Eddie’s moan is high and pitched, a string of cum dripping down his shaft. Richie pinches a little and Eddie cries out again, shuddering against him. 

“You like that?” Richie says.

“Yeah, fuck.”

“You’re so fucking hot. You make me so crazy, Eds. I’d quit my job to fuck you all day if I could. God, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

He bucks into Eddie harder, Eddie pressed up against the door, forehead against the cold coating, holding on for dear life as Richie fucks into him. Fingers press into his skin tight, hitting off old bruises and making new ones.

Richie holds Eddie close as he comes, panting Eddie's name low in his ear. He thrusts in and out a few more times, jerking sharp and hard against him. Eddie's own cock, pinned between the wall and his body, leaks pre in fat white beads. He's so close now that the motion of Richie pulling out and cum dripping down his legs nearly tips him over by itself. 

"God, I love you," Richie says. "Oh, baby, you're so close. You must be so fuckin' desperate."

"Yeah," Eddie says, voice strained and throaty.

"You're such a mess now. You should see yourself. You look so fucking hot when you're roughed up like this. I can't believe I'm the only one who gets to see it." Richie kisses the back of his neck and Eddie hisses softly under his breath. "You want me to clean you up?"

Eddie knows what Richie means when he says that. 

"Yes," Eddie says.

Richie's on his knees the next moment, hands on Eddie's ass. Eddie holds his breath in anticipation as he waits the seconds until he feels the flat of Richie's tongue against his hole. He lets out a shuddering sigh as Richie's tongue gently probes the edges before pushing inside him. One of Richie’s hands squeezes his ass, holding him open so his soft lips and tongue can work. Eddie covers his face with his hand like that makes a difference to how red he is, how close to the edge he is. Richie’s tongue flutters inside him and he gasps, body tensing up as he’s driven to the brink and then pushed right over, dripping wet and shaking. One hand paws uselessly at the wall for purchase, finds none, the other twists in Richie’s hair, pulling the strands tight between his fingers as he comes.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” Eddie says, breathless.

“That’s just what every guy wants to hear,” Richie says lightly. 

He stands up, knocking his knee against the toilet, grunting to himself. Eddie tries to catch his breath, heart pounding in his chest. Richie kisses him lightly on the corner of the mouth. It’s probably kind of gross to kiss your husband after he just ate your ass but they’re both kind of gross and Eddie loves Richie a lot so he permits it. 

“I love you,” Richie says.

“You want to quit your job so you can fuck me all day?” Eddie says, grinning.

“Oh, come on, don’t hold what a guy says when he’s balls deep against him. That’s - that’s cumbrain, it’s not representative of who I am as a person.” 

Eddie laughs and buries his face in his hands.

When they leave the cubicle they are both noticeably pink and sweaty. They have tried to put their clothes back in place but both of them look completely crumpled and messy. Eddie tries to brush his hair into place with his fingers but it doesn’t sit right. Richie splashes cold water on his face. It is not convincing. They look way too much about people who have been up to something they shouldn’t.

“Do I look like I just got fucked in a public toilet?” Eddie asks Richie, trying to straighten his tie, twinging his back and wincing.

“No?” Richie lies. “I mean… You’re a mess but you could have just, like, thrown up. People won’t  _ assume _ you were having illicit sex at work.”

“I look like I’ve thrown up after I’ve cum?” Eddie says, devastated. Richie makes a noise like a lawnmower and bursts into laughter.

Eddie weighs up his chances. He could go back to his desk, but he’s even more sore than before, and he’s also  _ tired  _ now, somehow not any less distracted than he was before. 

“I think I’m going to take the rest of the day off sick,” he says.

“Why the fuck didn’t you do that in the first place?” Richie says, still laughing. 


End file.
